


Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes off, But Dior Wants to Take Her Clothes off

by heonniebread



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Bad Boy Yoo Kihyun, F/M, Falling In Love, Kihyun's like a goofy bad boy, Mean Rich Girl Dior, Pegging, Romance, Smut, male/female - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28634577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heonniebread/pseuds/heonniebread
Summary: Kihyun is everything Dior's parents never wanted for her, but he's everything she's ever wanted. And her Congressman father would be livid if he found out she were dating a Motorcycle Gang member.
Relationships: Lee Minhyuk/Yoo Kihyun
Comments: 34
Kudos: 61





	Lying is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes off, But Dior Wants to Take Her Clothes off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cornflakekyun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornflakekyun/gifts).



> Minhyuk is cisgender woman Dior, Kihyun's cisgender male, they're both queer but it's het sex and if that's not your cup of tea then back away.

Alright, this guy is cute. Not the cut-out kind of cute, either. He’s got the broad shoulders, the height, unfortunately has a buzz cut. He has a nice jaw, sturdy, Dior would sit on it, sure. But he’s boring. God, he’s so fucking boring. If Dior doesn’t pull off her manicure by the end of the night, just to _feel_ something by the pull of the fake nails from her real nails, then she'll lose her sanity. He has nothing to offer to the conversation so he _is_ the conversation. He’s the type of dude that would go to a Korean restaurant just to impress her, but eat just the rice and meat, the “safe” foods, and he’d use the word “ethnic” to describe it. What the fuck is his name?

Mike.

It’s Mike. Michael. But his friends call him Mike. Dior will not be calling him Mike. She won't be calling him anything ever again, actually.

Dior pours herself more wine. She’s drinking most of it. She’s tipsy, but she can hold her liquor. She’s more glasses in than she should be. She’s supposed to be good, you know? Let this man drop her off at her house later, because he’s a sweet boy, and will have her home by eleven. He’ll have her home just as her mom and dad are ready for bed, her dad worriedly waiting in the living room. He threatened Mike before they left, one of those really fucking stupid ‘I have a gun and you have my daughter' jokes that made Dior want to scream at her father and rip her fucking tongue out. Her mom was the one that set this bullshit blind date up.

Dior sniffles, feeling the alcohol. Oh, this is gonna be fun when she stands up.

“Yes,” Dior smiles, runs her thin, long fingers around the lip of the wine glass. Mike watches the motion, is especially invested in how she curls her fingers around the stem. The boy thinks he’s going to get lucky? Funny.

“Do you wanna get dessert?” Mike looks at her mouth, is super obvious in the way he stares all gaga at her lips when she drinks the wine. “Do you want dessert?”

Good, she can get out of here if she plays this right.

“Do you want more wine?”

Dior quirks one eyebrow, disappointed but not surprised. “I’ve had plenty of wine.” She puts her glass down, clumsy and tipsy. He wants to get her drunk and what? Plans on fucking her in the backseat of the Telsa his daddy bought him while she’s inebriated? Great. Amazing. This white boy is pathetic. He looks like he’s spent most of his life jacking off to porn, porn that probably had women moaning super fake as they got railed, didn’t even get eaten out. He probably doesn’t know how to eat a woman out — probably can’t with those thin ass lips anyway.

If she plays this, she can get the fuck out of here.

Dior looks at Mike. Really looks at him, and realizes she doesn’t know what the fuck she found attractive about him in the first place. It’s like when her friends stare at their really fucking good selfies and pick out imperfections that are totally normal but for some reason they can’t accept it. Except while Dior can accept her friends’ imperfections, she can’t accept Mike’s. He looks like he got plastic surgery to look like every other stale ass white man out there. Congratulations, he looks like all the fucking Brad's and Chad’s and Chris’s out there. Congratulations, on being bland as fuck. This conversation isn’t even interesting. What the fuck are they talking about? Something about him being American, loves Asian girls. This is how awful the night's going. He probably has an American flag tattoo somewhere. What if he has a bald eagle on his bicep? What if he has a tribal tattoo?

Nausea kicks Dior’s ass a little early.

She needs more wine.

No, she doesn’t. She needs to be coherent to see herself out of this fucking date.

“My grandfather served during ‘Nam. Said the women are gorgeous.”

Dior raises her hand, fuck, she’s drunk. This asshole is _not_ going to make some bullshit comparison about his slim to none knowledge of her Korean culture to the Vietnam, what, _War_? She’s heard enough about the fucking Vietnam war of, and Mike says exactly what she thinks he’s going to say, “1955 to 1975.” Here’s the thing; Dior barely knows much about her own Korean culture. She’s adopted.

“Wanna get dessert?” Dior tips her head to the side, lets her long curls bounce around her chest. She should’ve worn a lower cut shirt to distract this bimbo. Maybe a dress, not heels and jeans. Not this sweater.

Mike wants dessert, thinks dessert means _I’ll suck your dick_. It doesn’t. Here’s the thing - Dior has _good_ dick waiting on standby. She checks her phone at the same time Mike does. It’s eight-thirty. He’s probably thinking he can get some before dropping her off, but Dior is texting Kihyun, the good dick, sending him her location and putting lots of hearts in the text. She can get it, and then still be dropped off at home before eleven. Because Kihyun, though their relationship is at ‘just fucking,’ he’s actually really sweet and respectful and careful of her boundaries, specifically: the boundaries her parents set for her that she has to sneak around. Kihyun’s _so_ worth all the sneaking around. Kihyun’s the type of guy to eat her out until she’s pushing away, gasping and whining, coming over his lips for a third — fourth, time that night. And then he holds her, kisses the top of her head, makes her traditional Korean food. They started watching Korean dramas together. Like, actually watching, it’s not just background noise. Dior's so invested in the shows.

Unfortunately, Dior is supposed to be home by eleven. She doesn’t have time for sex and another episode of Happy Together, so sex it is.

In short: Kihyun’s her booty call. That she’s falling in love with.

But mommy and daddy would never approve of Kihyun, so he’s a secret. A really big, fat, secret.

Dior never felt the need to lie to her parents. She’s a good girl. She really is; good grades, not good enough to be valedictorian in high school, but she got honors, AP classes. She did well in college. They buy her a new car every few years; now she drives an Audi, has a credit card with her name on it that she definitely doesn’t pay monthly, but it’s always paid off anyway. Mommy and daddy take care of her.

Dior has a really good life and she knows she does. Adopted by wealthy and white parents, she hasn’t worried about a thing in her life. She’s smart; she's smart because she applies herself, because she has tutors, parents that nudge her in the right direction, parents that invest money into her education. Though she got lucky with scholarships.

That’s the secret: Dior has parents that support her. Dior has parents with _money_. In return, she gratefully uses up all her resources, and, for the most part, behaves. Her name stays out of the tabloids.

Kihyun is the biggest lie she’s ever told. He’s a slap in their face. He’s everything they’ve never wanted for her.

Which is sad, because Kihyun could be the best thing that’s ever happened to her. Dior’s too tipsy to be thinking these things. She’s probably thinking these things because she’s tipsy.

It’s late enough at night that Kihyun’s not working, so he can show up and pick her up like some damn modern day knight in a leather jacket and a speedy little Kawasaki. Dior and Mike leave the restaurant, Mike’s hand sitting low on her back, Mike’s comments getting suggestive; they could go to the cliff, which is where all the horny teenagers take their significant others in their parents borrowed cars to make out and get really bad head for the first time, or give really bad head for the first time (Dior’s case. She wishes she got head on that stupid mountain.) But she’s old enough now to not want to give head to her blind date at the cliff.

Kihyun’s waiting for her outside in the parking lot. He found the Tesla easily enough, has his motorcycle parked behind it, and his leather jacket and black skinny jeans ensemble earns one of those pathetic, _you’ll be hearing from my father_ comments from Mike.

Dior slips her arm out of Mike’s. She knows what people say about her in the DM’s. She cares, but pretends not to. “How embarrassing, if everyone knew you didn’t make it to dessert.”

Kihyun takes her hand; his hands, that are rough from mechanic work, but always so good to her. He helps her onto the back of his bike, gives her a look, because she’s off center, she's drunk, and it's pretty obvious. Dior slips on the extra riding helmet and clings to Kihyun's back. He leaves Mike behind in the parking lot, dateless. Dior closes her eyes, relaxing as they ride down the streets. But they pull up to an all too familiar front gate. Dior blinks up at the front gate of her house.

“Why… am I home?” That’s her house. That’s her gate, and the huge fence, and her mailbox. It’s shaped like a birdhouse.

The bike rumbles underneath her. It’s exciting. But Kihyun is solid, unmoving. “You’re drunk. Go inside and get to bed.”

Dior shakes her head, but Kihyun kisses her, knows where to put his bike so it’s out of view of the security cameras. He pats her head, and Dior clings to his leather jacket.

“Can’t we — “

“Go sleep, baby.” Kihyun smiles a little at her. “I’ll come pick you up tomorrow, hm?”

* * *

They met at a dog cafe.

It was only a few months ago.

Dior spotted Kihyun across the room, in all black, his black hair pushed back to show off his undercut — _sexy_ — and he was making kissy noises at a dog, trying to make a little girl less afraid of the puppy, and Dior’s heart melted. She’s very picky when it comes to men, doesn’t believe in love at first sight, but, things are different with Kihyun. Kihyun’s different. He noticed her staring, introduced his _niece_ — the resemblance was so present Dior thought the girl was his daughter — and slipped Dior his number. Dior could have a drawer full of discarded numbers, a savings account stuffed full if she had a dollar for every number a man has slipped her; she’s gorgeous. She knows she’s gorgeous, and owns it. She’s tall, but not tall enough to make men not want to approach her, and she’s lean. She’s confident. Her hair is thick and dyed a flattering ashy brown, curly, with bangs that halo her long face. She wears clothes that accentuate everything _she_ wants to accentuate; her pinched waist, her boobs, her long legs.

She called Kihyun that very same night, no shame, because life is too short to live with regrets.

Every time they meet, every time he texts her, Dior has to remind herself, _don’t fall for him._

* * *

Dior wraps a hoodie around herself, pulls the hood up as she tries to bounce out the front door without any suspicion. The foyer is massive, though, sneaking across it is hard as fuck, and one of the golden retrievers, Bugs, barks at her. Diors puts her finger to her lips, but immediately scratches Bugs’ ears when he gets close enough.

“Who’s a little snitch? Hm? _You_ are.” Dior scratches under Bugs’ chin.

“A jog?” Her mother, Sara, pokes her around around the corner from the living room and looks at Dior’s leggings and sneakers. Dior smiles at her. “At this time of night?”

It’s seven.

“It’s only seven, mom.” Dior glances outside, at the pinkish sky. “I’ll be back soon.”

“By yourself?” Her father frowns, looking away from the television.

Dior shrugs at him. “Just around the neighborhood.”

In twenty minutes she’ll text them saying that a friend from university spotted her and pulled over and now they’re out for ice cream, _so much for a jog!!! hahahahaha_ , though that’s so not the case. Kihyun picks Dior up around the corner, and she grins when she sees him waiting for her, gleefully grins as he revvs the engine for her. She loves it.

Kihyun pushes her bangs from her face and kisses her forehead. It makes her so fucking soft. It makes her think he wants her for more than sex. Which is mostly what they do. They meet a few times a week; mostly to fuck, and they cuddle so fucking much. Dior doesn’t think she’ll ever get it like this again in her life, and she dreads the day she has to marry someone —

Dangerous thoughts. No, those aren’t allowed.

Kihyun is handsome, he’s so fucking handsome. He hits all the basic qualifications for a man: washes his face, uses toner, emulsion _and_ sunscreen, that’s such a turn on. He uses different moisturizers morning to night. He picks her up from bad dates and drops her off at home because she’s drunk. He texts her to tell her to drink water. He asks for video proof of her drinking water. The standards are so fucking low, and Kihyun leaps right the fuck over them all. Dior would wifey this man.

No, no, she’s — what the _fuck_ are these thoughts.

On top of it all, he’s secretive. He won’t kiss her in public, will barely touch her, but when they get a second in a parking lot he’ll rub his nose into her forehead and Dior will giggle, wrap her arm around his shoulders. Her daddy’s a Congressman. They have to be careful about where they hang out and who might see them.

Dior doesn’t need a five-star Michelin meal with some dude that thinks she wants a salad with some oil. She needs Kihyun, who feeds her a bacon burger and asks for extra cheese, and then takes her out to the beach, and sits next to her on the sand, sharing curly fries and an peanut-butter banana milkshake.

Dior leans into Kihyun, gets comfortable as he wraps his arm around her. She closes her eyes, rests into Kihyun’s arms the way the sun rests into the horizon, settling in for the night.

“Can I stay with you?” Dior asks. She breathes to the sound of the waves. “Tonight? Can I stay with you?”

She can never stay the night, not with her daddy being as strict as he is. She has to be home by midnight. Twenty-three years old, studying for her master’s, is an _adult_ , Dior, needs daddy’s permission to stay out all night. She knows Wonhee would cover for her if she needs it. Wonhee was there when she met Kihyun, she knows what’s going on, she supports Dior’s side thing with Kihyun.

“What are you gonna tell your parents?” Kihyun has a slight accent, barely there, the accent of someone who came to the United States at a young age, the accent of someone that lost most of it when speaking on the phone for his parents, who did the translating at the grocery store, who went with his parents to the bank at a young age and new what credit was before his preteen years. Dior knows all these stories about his childhood because he's told her. Her own life, in comparison, has been seamless. She almost feels bad telling him about the designer shoes she's always had growing up, the jacuzzi she's always had in her own private bathroom, the BMW she got at sixteen.

Dior breathes deeply. She opens her eyes, and the ambience of the ocean, of kids running by them, of a lady with her dog, the waves responding to the moon, is serendipitous. This is what peace is.

“I’ll tell them I’m with Wonhee.”

Kihyun presses his lips to the side of her face. “Is Wonhee okay with that?” He’s so attentive, so thoughtful of others.

“I’ll text her.” Dior waits a second, waits for Kihyun to say no. But he doesn’t. So she texts Wonhee, tells her that she has plans, she doesn’t plan on going home. Wonhee responds a good forty minutes later, but by then, they’re back at Kihyun’s apartment. He’s cooking for Dior. He’s cooking traditional food; japchae, food that Dior isn’t familiar with, but is excited to try. She’s so excited to try what he makes her. It makes her feel a little closer to her roots. She overheard Kihyun speaking in Korean a few weeks ago, on the phone. She was lying in his bed, and he was pacing his room, speaking cleanly. Dior doesn’t understand a word. When he hung up she said she wishes she knew more about her culture, and he said,

_“You don’t know anything about your Korean culture?”_

_“No, I was adopted really young.”_

That was how they started watching Happy Together. They can watch it while they eat. Dior has never felt so comfortable with someone.

“Thanks for doing this.” She melts over the dish. It’s so fucking good. She gets so excited when Kihyun says he’s cooking for her. She gets banging food _and_ good dick. No one can touch her. “My white parents don’t know anything about Korean culture, so, I don’t, either.” She glances up at Kihyun, who’s discarded his leather jacket, looks really hot in a grey tank, Dior has never paid so much attention to a man’s chest like she does Kihyun’s.

“My family came to America when I was six, we went back to Korea for me to finish high school… and then came back here. I think you’d like it there.” Kihyun looks down at his bowl, raising his chopsticks to his mouth.

Dior does the opposite, rests her chopsticks against her bowl. “Why’s that?”

He tells her all about Seoul; what he remembers of it; holidays, family traditions, high school classrooms and what dating was like. He has disjointed memories of it, of having to split his life between these two places; DC and Seoul. Dior never asks him where he loves more because that’s unfair, and she can tell, with the way Kihyun speaks, he has half his heart there, and half his heart here. She doesn’t know where her own heart is. It isn’t quite fully here, in DC, though this is her whole life. She doesn’t remember anything from her life in South Korea. Her parents adopted her when she was a toddler. But she longs for something she doesn’t understand how she can miss. Kihyun smiles a lot when he talks about Korea, gets wide eyed and excited, talks with his hands.

“I think I wanna go one day.” Dior grabs her hair in a handful, twists it and flips it over her shoulder. She’s so due for a haircut. She needs a trim.

“I’ll be your translator.” Kihyun offers without blinking, leaning back in his chair, having finished his food. He’s waiting for her. Dior gets a little surprised that he’s just fine with hinting at traveling with her.

“I rarely ever leave D.C.” Dior shrugs. “Been to Disneyworld, the Big Apple. Dallas. I don’t remember what the fuck I had to go to Dallas for.”

Kihyun laughs a little. “I’ve never been to New York.”

“We should go.” Dior shoves noodles in her mouth. Oof. What the fuck does she mean _go to New York City_. They barely leave his apartment together.

“I want to be a tourist in New York.” Kihyun smiles really big at the thought. “I want to see the Statue of Liberty. I hope I don’t get sick on the boat.”

Dior looks up at him. “You’ve never been on a boat?”

Kihyun shakes his head.

Well, lucky for him, “My family has one. I can take you out over the summer.”

“Oh?” Kihyun looks hella impressed. “You have a boat license?”

“I do, we practically grew up on it.”

“Wait, you have a boat? Is it a Yacht?”

“Not as big as a Yacht.” Dior smiles at Kihyun’s excited expression. “I’ll take you one day.”

Adorable, that he doesn’t even hide how stoked he is. Dior means it, too. She can drive the boat, she knows the waters around DC, they can get wine and snacks and ride out to the sea and just relax, play in the water, take a nap in the sun. She really wants to take a nap in the sun with Kihyun.

“That would be so fucking cool.”

Their thing started like this; flirty texts for like a week or two, Dior sent him a cute picture of her ass in lacy underwear, he sent her a tasteful (well, as tasteful as these things get) photo of him holding his dick in a mirror selfie, and then they met up, fucked, and now they’re here. For a while they were just at _fucking_. It was fine. But then they started to get to know each other and Dior tries, her very best, to shove down every possible smidgen of feeling she could have for him.

Kihyun makes it really fucking hard, because he cooks traditional foods and buys her Korean snacks, and he talks about translating for her in another country, and he’s absolutely fucking adorable at the thought of getting out on the water on a boat; _and_ because he eats her pussy like a starved man. He treats her so fucking well in bed. After she’s cum twice, he fucks her long and drawn out, deliberate. They fuck for a while, it’s not just them trying to get an urge out of the way. They fuck because they enjoy it, because Dior needs someone other than these boring ass men she's been with before. She needs someone that gets that she really likes it, too. And Kihyun gets it. Dior’s never been fucked like this. He builds her up, breaks her down, dismantles her, calls her _kitten_ , calls her _princess_ , his _baby doll_. He fucks with the stamina of a teenager, not like he’s nearing thirty. Dior thought libido was supposed to go down around then. He plays with her nipples, like what the fuck? He knows how to tease her clit and play with her breasts? How’d she snag this one?

Not only that, but he’ll kiss her after she’s sucked his dick and some dudes aren’t into that and that makes them _weak_.

Kihyun cuddles, too. Completely embraces her, buries his face into the back of her head and tells her he likes her shampoo. And the asshole notices when she changes it, too, when they’re lying in bed after a few rounds, tuckered out and ready for sleep. Dior has been spending more and more nights at his place. She knows her parents are going to get suspicious, she knows it looks weird that she’s always telling them she’s staying with Wonhee, but Dior is getting increasingly comfortable with Kihyun. There are so many less boundaries than before. It feels like a natural progression.

“You don’t smell like an apple orchards anymore.” Kihyun laughs as she pinches his arm. He wraps his arms tighter around her. “What’s your new shampoo?” He nuzzles into the back of her head.

“Blackberry.” She says, and Kihyun sniffs.

“What else…?”

“Green tea.”

“Hmmm,” Kihyun’s falling asleep. “Smells really nice.”

Dior’s heart skips. “You really like it?”

She feels him nod against her head. But he’s sleeping only moments after.

Dior lies in bed, eyes open, staring into the dark, and feels tears prickling at the edges of her heart. She wants Kihyun for so much more than just hook-ups, and it feels like they’re already past that, but they’re not.

* * *

“I have this really old memory.” Dior stares at the coffee shop. The bookcase reminds her of the memory she thinks about only sometimes. “It’s really old. I wonder if it’s a dream.”

Kihyun blows on his coffee, looks up at her. “What is it?”

“It’s of a woman, a Korean woman.” Her mother, probably. “And there’s a bookcase behind her, and a door, and she’s crying.”

Kihyun sets his cup down, gives Dior his full attention. She can’t look at him while he does that. “I wonder if that was the moment my mom gave me up.”

“You know what my earliest memory is?” Kihyun cuts the muffin in half. Dior realizes he’s sharing it with her. It’s lemon poppy. She fucking loves lemon poppy. That’s probably why Kihyun got it, though she can’t remember when the fuck she told him.

“What?” Dior asks, watching him slide a small tea plate with half a lemon poppy seed muffin on it.

“Being with my mom. In her arms.”

Dior thinks of her own memory; of her mom, being in her arms.

“I think she was watching television; laughing, happy.”

Dior looks away when he looks up. Is this what hook ups do? Get breakfast together? Talk about their earliest memories? It’s surreal. She never went home this morning, she just stayed. And they just went out.

“Well, anything after that is of my parents. My now parents.” Dior blushes. “My adopted parents.”

Dior looks up at Kihyun, at his soft gaze, his warm smile. It’s springtime out, the days warmer, stickier, Kihyun’s smile a reprieve from it all.

It turns into a day long date. It's a date. After breakfast he takes her out on his bike and they head to the parks, they feed ducks, Kihyun skips rocks. He treats her to ice cream, they walk along a path and Dior gets spooked by a bunny. She's so embarrassed, it's not even that woodsy around here what did she think was in the woods. A bear? A cougar? In the middle of DC? Please. Kihyun holds her hand and smiles at her. When they're along one of the bends in the path, Dior standing over the stream, Kihyun kicks his boots off, pulls off his socks, and Dior shakes her head as he rolls his pants legs up.

"Get in the water." It's super shallow, like, just hits mid calf at the deepest point. So Dior slips off her sneakers and pulls her pants leg up. Kihyun holds her hand, and the water is freezing. Dior has to scream about it, let everyone who's in the area know. Her shrill shrieks echo through the trees and Kihyun laughs, doesn't tell her to be quiet. Instead, once she's done, and she's losing feeling in her toes, he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her in, the sun reflecting off the water, glimmering over Kihyun's face. She tries not to get too lost in the moment, melts as he runs his hands through her hair, all the way to the ends, through the sleep-tossed curls.

He kisses her. Just to kiss her. Just to hold her, the cool water from the stream lapping around their ankles, the sun smiling down at them through the trees.

Dior could fall in love with Kihyun.

They kiss like they're already there.

"What are you doing tonight?" Kihyun asks against her lips, a hand coming to cup her face.

"What do you want me to be doing?" Dior smiles, loops her arms around his neck. She's not that much shorter than him, only by an inch, and she loves that he isn't bothered by it. Most men about his height — which is, frankly speaking, most men, because Kihyun is average height — get bothered by her long legs, thin frame, and have asked her not to wear heels. She doesn't even have to be wearing heels for them to ask. Talk about a complex.

"Wine and paint."

Dior pulls away. "What?"

Kihyun looks at her, set in his decision. "That thing were you get wine and — "

"You wanna do that?" Dior blinks at him. That's something she and Wonhee would do together, for a girls night out. That's something none of her or Wonhee's exes would do. Or any of her friends' boyfriends, really.

Of course she’s down for it, Dior loves to paint. She draws the woods, the beaten path, she mixes colors and fucks up on colors but blends it in. She doesn't try to copy anyone else's style. This style is her own. And the lines get blurry as she moves past the first glass of wine, then the second. She's not drinking to get through the night, like most of the dates her parents set her up on, here she's just happy, unbothered. This is her, trying to capture how the sun shone on them earlier, how she felt when Kihyun kissed her, their feet in the water, blurry, unfocused but saturated with color.

Kihyun finishes first. He frowns at his painting. Dior leans over to peek and he twists it away.

"Don't get mad."

Dior stares at him. Raises an eyebrow. He looks apologetic, so she knows she's going to get mad.

"Did you paint me like one of your French girls?"

Kihyun pouts and mumbles, "I don't have any French girls."

Dior rolls her eyes. "Did you draw me naked?"

"No." Kihyun stares at his painting. "This is so much worse."

Alright, she's getting antsy. She already knows she's about to yell at him. He might as well rip off the band-aid. He flips the painting. It's smudged, definitely beginner's work. It's a…

"Teddy…" She looks at Kihyun, and he ducks forward to look at the painting, confused. Not a teddy bear. Okay. "It's a bunny." She points to the animals floppy wavy ears. "A floppy eared bunny."

Do bunnies have fur in that golden color? It's the same shade as her hair. The painting is so bad it's adorable. She doesn't know why she's supposed to be mad.

"It's a springer spaniel."

Dior knows what springer spaniels look like. She bites her lip and tries to hold back a laugh. That's not a springer spaniel.

"It's... cute."

"It's supposed to be you."

Dior sits back. Looks at the painting. "You drew me as a dog."

"Because the first time we met it was at a dog cafe and I thought it'd be cute! And springers are, like, you know, rich and pampered dogs." Kihyun turns the painting back towards himself. "It seemed like a much better idea in my head."

She can't believe he brought her out to do something he's not even good at. He's so fucking precious.

"Are you insinuating I'm a high maintenance bitch?"

Kihyun stares at her, slack jaw, like he hadn't considered that to be a possible interpretation. She's not actually mad, not even a little, Kihyun's too fucking cute for her to be angry. But she edges her voice, just a little, so he thinks she is. And he groans, loud and angry at himself, and _thunks_ his forehead so hard against the table it's embarrassing, and other groups in the room turn to look at them. Dior has one hand up to cover her mouth and she's laughing, laughing hard, fully belly, there's nothing but air coming out of her mouth.

Kihyun's so fucking precious.

"I don't wanna go home." Dior isn't clingy with men. Not even with her exes. But when they leave the wine and paint studio a little later, Kihyun says he'll drop her off at home, and Dior would actually rather wear these leggings a third day in a row than go home. Or she could borrow his clothes, that'd be sexy. She could throw her clothes in his laundry, use that as an excuse to come by in a few days when he's done laundry, and then stay over again. It's the perfect plan.

"Did you do your International Policies assignment?"

Dior frowns. Stares at him. "We don't talk about that." She told him about the assignment when she got it, she still has a week, but she has class in the morning, work she has to do for that, more readings, some more assignments. She whines, truly petulant, and smushes her face into Kihyun’s shoulder. Her hand slips down his arm, tangling her fingers into his.

"I'll see you on Tuesday, how about that?"

Dior _tsks_ , goes, "Fine." That's only one day.

* * *

Tomorrow, on Monday, she gets home from classes around one-thirty. She needs a nap, before anything else. But maybe thirty minutes in and she wakes up with her mother knocking on her door. She groans from her bed and moves her fountain of hair out of her face, rolling over to see her mother smiling at her from the foot of the bed.

"There's a delivery for you."

It's a latte from that coffee shop Dior went to with Kihyun. And a lemon poppy seed muffin. She hugs the mug, feels a lot like a soppy soap opera.

Sara smiles at her, assumes that she ordered the coffee herself, though they have an espresso machine in the kitchen. Sara tells her good luck on her studies, and Dior figures, she might as well get up now. She sets up her desk, notes, laptop, the day's lectures pulled up, and sits back and centers the mug in it, setting it up like an expensive photoshoot, as if she were going to promo this coffee shop to her thousands of Instagram followers. She might. But for now, this fake study set up is just for Kihyun.

He calls her after she sents the picture. She grins and tucks her phone between her ear and shoulder, flops on the bed and says, "Hi, baby." Then panics and looks over her shoulder to make sure her bedroom door is closed.

"Hi, kitten." Kihyun sounds suave and cool. Dior wonders if he wants phone sex as a thank you, she's so down for that. She lays back in her bed, closes her eyes, and she hears Kihyun breathe in and say, "Go sit at your desk and study."

Dior pauses, lifts her hand to her phone to hold it to her ear so she can straighten her neck. "What?"

"Are you studying?"

"Uh— " Dior looks at her desk. All the way across the room. "Yes…"

"You could at least _try_ to sound more convincing." There's a hell of a lot of noise behind him. He must be at the shop.

Dior whines and flops back on her bed. "I don't want tooooooo."

"Doesn't matter. You haaaaaaaaave to."

"So cruel." Dior tries not to make any sound that would indicate she thinks his teasing is super fucking cute.

"If you don't finish your assignments I won't pick you up tomorrow."

Dior chews her lip, blinks up at her vaulted ceiling. She wonders, briefly, why Kihyun cares about her education. She wonders why he should care about her education. He's too invested in her life, her future, for a booty call. She's actually told him her dreams; they don't exactly line up with a Criminal Law degree. She wants to do art therapy. Kihyun knows this. Kihyun is one of the few people that knows this. But it's too late to start over. She already has her bachelor's, is halfway through her master’s. She draws on the side. With a Law degree she can get into the government, like her dad. It's safe and guaranteed. She has the easiest transition from college to career. She has it lucky. She knows Kihyun didn't have it lucky; he went to a trade school, learned early on that he was good with his hands.

Why does she consider that _unlucky_? Kihyun likes his job, is good at it, loves his coworkers, has a reliable income and steady hours. But most importantly: He’s good at it. He likes doing it. He knows cars, he says he’s happy where he’s at and Dior really believes him.

"Kitten,"

Dior glances over at her laptop, sighing in defeat. "I'm gonna study."

Kihyun smiles, she can hear it. "So I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, see you tomorrow."

* * *

When the semester is over a grueling few weeks later, mom and dad want to send her on another blind date with a coworkers son. They’re getting pushy about her settling down. Her parents were already married at her age, her mother was twenty-one and her dad twenty-five, and the thought of marriage at twenty-three makes Dior want to claw herself out of her skin. The thought of having a child at her age, which was about the age her mother was when they adopted her, because her mother can't get pregnant and everyone back then was starting things hella young, makes Dior want to scream until she's hacking blood. She has so much _more_ to live for at her age. She wants more trips, vacations, manicures, she wants to go back to platinum, maybe dye her whole head blue. She wants a tattoo.

Kihyun, despite his cute lobe piercings and leather jacket and motorcycle, doesn't have any tattoos. Dior knows, she’s seen and kissed every inch of his body. He really loves it when she kisses his jawline, and between his legs, right at the junction of his hip.

But she spends all afternoon sending him tattoo inspirations. There’s a lot of flowers. She wants a flower. Maybe a rose. Maybe multiple roses. Kihyun’s at work, so he responds sporadically, but she wants his opinions. She can’t figure out what she wants.

Anyway, all she wants to do is go on fun dates (which she does) and have really fun sex (which she does) and not have to worry about anything. Is that really all that selfish? All her friends are hinting towards rings and houses and kids in the near future, and her parents keep sending her on these blind dates with the bland ass men that think cookies 'n 'creme ice cream shouldn't be a part of her diet. She's not on a diet.

At lunch, Kihyun sends her a link to a tattoo artist that does some of the prettiest flowers Dior has ever fucking seen. She spends a while scrolling through the page. A long while. Then spends an even longer time scrolling through Kihyun’s page. He posts a lot of scenery, aesthetic pics, selfies of him looking really hot. She sends Kihyun’s page to Wonhee, to brag a lot, that this is the hot dick she’s getting.

She ends back up on the tattoo artists page, sighs longingly at the colors, the shading. How far is Philadelphia? She could take a weekend trip. The artist has an open space tomorrow, she’s advertising it in a story, it’s less than half an hour old. Dior groans and stares at her phone and says, _fuck it_. She e-mails the artist, asks about the booking, and the artist responds within the minute.

Dior can feel the Earth shifting as the artist agrees, says they can throw in a quick consultation. Dior screams, calls Kihyun, and screams again.

“Guess what I just did!”

Kihyun makes a low noise. “My ears are ringing, babe.”

“Get over it.” Dior can hear him laugh. “I’m going to Philly tomorrow to get a tattoo.”

“You — what? It’s been, like, an hour since I sent you the page.”

“She had a cancelation, she can squeeze me in.” Dior runs around her room, pulling an overnight bag from her closet. “I’ve never been to Philly — oh my god, I need a hotel. No, I want to stay in an Airbnb.” A fleeting thought runs through her head. Kihyun doesn’t work weekends. “Would you… like to come?”

Of course he wouldn’t want to come; a last minute three hour drive to another state to watch her lie on a table while someone inks her? Why would he want that?

“I would.” Kihyun says after a moment. “Are you, uh, leaving tonight?”

“Yeah, the appointment’s at ten tomorrow morning.” Dior sits on her bed and hugs her knees to her chest. “Are you sure you want to come? I can drive, I plan on driving.”

“That’s fine, yeah. I want to go.”

What the fuck kind of booty call accepts a last minute invite to a mini weekend getaway? Dior knows they’re crossing lines, but when she’s waiting outside Kihyun’s apartment, super excited and perfecting the playlist, she can feel herself get all warm when he climbs into her car. She’s really happy he’s coming along.

“Ready?” She grins, her heart expanding times ten when Kihyun leans over to kiss her cheek.

They’re crossing so many lines.

“Ready.” Kihyun smiles.

* * *

“I never learned to cook because my mom said I needed to know so I could cook for my husband.” They made it to the Airbnb fine, immediately crashed on the bed. It's just past 9 p.m. “And now I can barely cook for _myself_.” They’ve been talking about their childhood, and how Dior has kicked and screamed at the thought of marriage since she was a child. But, like she admitted in the car, it was the fear of monotony that drove her insane. She doesn’t want to marry because she’s supposed to, because she has some bullshit role to fill. She wants to marry someone that she loves, that loves her back, and doesn’t expect her to cook dinner every single night after she comes home from a nine-to-five. Whomever she marries better fucking cook, too. She gets very vocal about it, and Kihyun’s great. He actually agrees with her on a lot of things; he doesn’t seem to have this gender-appointed views of marriage, and Dior can’t think of very men she’s personally met that are like that. She’s only seen men with opinions like that on, like, social media.

“I’ll cook for you.”

Dior’s brain goes: _What an odd comment to make after that train of thought._

Her mouth goes; “I really like your food.”

And Kihyun smiles, looks at her. “So, I’ll cook for you.”

Dior takes a deep breath, tells herself to calm down, but she feels so much when Kihyun does these stupid little domestic gestures. Men in her town must be boring as fuck if Kihyun offering to cook makes her knees weak. How is the bar so low.

“Are you seeing other girls?”

Dior frowns at herself. When did she even have that thought?

“No.” Kihyun responds easily, and Dior immediately trusts and believes him. But the rational side of her brain kicks in and reminds her they’re not together, he can be seeing all the other girls he wants and she has no right to be mad. But the thought bothers her, and she realizes there are only two sides to her thoughts of reason: either they make this official, or she doesn’t know how much more of this toeing-the-relationship-line-as-booty-calls moments she can take. This isn’t just being friends, friends don’t kiss the way they do. Friends don't fuck the way they do. Friends would travel three some-odd hours to another state to watch their friend get a tattoo, though.

“I’m only talking to you.”

Dior’s heart races. This feels awful, there's a fish flopping and dying in her stomach, and Kihyun’s looking at her like he can read her counteractive thoughts. She’s telling herself not to just blindly believe him.

The thing is: Kihyun doesn’t have to prove anything to her. They’re not exclusive. Dior’s going on all these blind dates her parents set up, she surely isn’t keeping up her end of the chances for a mutual relationship with Kihyun. She has a date, again, on Friday. Though she’s going into it thinking of Kihyun, with no intention of dating these men her parents hope she’ll be content enough with to abandon her single life and jump straight into marriage and kids. She would happily abandon her single life if she could be with someone she actually loves and enjoys being with. What a concept for the straights, huh?

Kihyun, though, rolls over, pats around on the bed until he finds what he’s looking for. He tells her his niece’s birthday, and Dior stares at him, his phone and passkey — his entire fucking life — in her hands.

“Go ahead.”

He doesn’t have to do this. But he is. Dior doesn’t want to snoop, but it’s not snooping if he’s giving her permission. His lock screen is of a starry sky, his homescreen is a photo of two coffee mugs. It’s from the coffee shop the day they talked about early memories. She’s not in it, but her mug is, the cut in half lemon poppy seed muffin, and the pretty rays of sunshine coming in through the windows. It's a photo that she tries to tell herself doesn't mean anything, when it does. It means something when his background is directly related to a memory of her.

She looks past that, scrolls through his contacts, sees he has no recent messages on Instagram, his most contacted number is his mom — fuck, that’s wholesome — the second is Dior, the third someone named Hyunwoo. His Chrome browser only has three tabs: The layout of the local mall, some news article, and the Wikipedia page on her dad. Dior raises an eyebrow and turns it towards him. Kihyun shrugs.

“I think it’s cool that your dad has his own Wikipedia page. And your name’s in there.” Kihyun rolls over to point at it.

Dior stares at him, weighed down by the gravity of her feelings for him. She glances towards the dresser, grabs her phone and tells him her pass code, too. Kihyun stares at the background, it's her dogs, though Dior would make it of him. Of them, if they ever take a selfie together.

"Just so we're on the same page." She says. Kihyun stares up at her, and he looks at her like he knows. He knows about her feelings. Like he's seeing them for the first time. He doesn't seem to be panicking, just a smile blooming across his face.

"Got nudes?" He turns back to her phone and hides his smile by pulling the blankets up over his mouth.

Dior rolls her eyes. "Any nudes I have I've sent to you." She pauses, hears Kihyun shift next to her. "Or Wonhee. Sometimes we show each other our cute underwear."

Kihyun plops his head in her lap. Dior stops, momentarily stunned. "Should I be jealous of Wonhee?"

Dior takes a strangled breath. _It's okay. You're safe with Kihyun._

"Nope. She's straight." Dior wonders if he'll pick up that she's not talking about herself. "Besides, we've known each other for too long for that."

"Hmmm," Kihyun kisses her thigh, scrolling through her phone. "You have fifty-three browsers open." He pauses, and then laughs. "They're all shoes or school stuff or restaurant reviews. The three most important things you need." He pulls open one of the articles, it’s for her paper. Kihyun scrolls through it. “You’re so fucking smart. I don’t know what half this shit means.” He twists her phone so she can see a different tab she has open of restaurants in Philly. "Can we eat here?"

Dior pets a hand through his hair. "Tonight?"

"You wanna go tonight?"

Dior can't believe they're lying in a bed and neither of them are naked or trying to fuck.

"Yeah." She says, eating the words, _it's a date._

Though, in hindsight, it’s usually a date.

They go on the date, and Dior, who’s been on a pathetic number of these dinner dates recently, has _fun_ with Kihyun. She slips her arm into his as they meander back to the Airbnb, they shower, and Kihyun suggests another movie, The Good, the Bad and the Weird. When they curl into bed, they actually watch the movie. No handjobs under the blanket, Kihyun’s hand doesn’t slip too low. Dior’s way too into the movie, anyway. They do make out, a lot, when it’s over. They kiss and touch and Dior cups Kihyun’s jaw, nibbles on his lower lip and they kiss until she’s tingly down to her toes. But they don’t fuck. They’re having an increasing number of nights like this; where they’re together to be together, not for sex.

After the appointment, which takes a good five hours and Kihyun stays with her the whole time, they take a walk downtown, stop at cute shops, and Kihyun takes a photo of her. A candid, that comes out really fucking nice. He captured the moment her smile spread, her hand just barely covering it, the city light unfocused behind her. She approves of it, and Kihyun posts it to his story, tags her. Then he turns his camera to selfie mode and says, "Smile, beautiful."

It's like an instinct to lean into him. Dior presses her face against his and they don't take just one selfie they take a few, and in one of them he tips his head to the side to kiss her cheek.

They don't even have sex that night. They shower, climb into bed, just them, lying together, scrolling through videos of cute animals and people doing stupid shit on Kihyun’s Instagram. Kihyun twirls a long lock of her hair. Some message notifications pop up, and Dior feels a little weird as he checks them quick, with her right there and looking, while he decides if it needs a response immediately. One of the messages read _, i have some of your stuff._

Kihyun opens the text, shifts awkwardly underneath Dior. He responds, _like what_

It's an unsaved number, and Dior’s stomach twists, that dying floppy fish back in her stomach. This unsaved number is an ex. This is one hundred percent an ex. She wonders how recent the break up was. She wonders if he was seeing this chick while fucking Dior. She knows he doesn't owe her anything, but she can taste the dying fish in her mouth, too. She feels awful.

The other person responds with a photo. Kihyun opens the photo and sighs.

"Doesn't look like anything important." He mumbles, drops his phone to his lap. "Jesus,"

Dior shifts away a little. "Ex…?"

"Yeah."

"She's not saved in your phone. Was it bad?"

Kihyun pauses. _Oh_. This is a rough pause. What does this pause mean — is he about to tell her he has a _kid_ , when he told her he went to jail it was because he was in the wrong place wrong time during a drug bust, what if he owes child support, what if —

"Him. He. He's my ex-boyfriend."

Dior can't help it when her jaw drops. Not a child. Got it.

"He, uh." Kihyun sighs, stares up at the ceiling. "We were together two and a half years, lived together. I thought we were happy. Even now, I can't really think of anything bad to say about him, or us."

Dior stares up at him, her heart racing in her chest. "Why'd you break up?"

"We got… stagnant. Boring. We stopped making each other happy. And after even moving in together to try and fix it, we realized that it wasn't going to work out. I want to be with someone that _wants_ to be with me. What a fucking concept." Kihyun huffs. "It sucks. But." He lifts his phone and looks at the photo. He zooms in on it — a stuffed animal. A pair of shoes. A sweater. "It's been a year. Why do I care about any of this?"

Dior looks up at him. He wants the same thing she does out of a relationship. She takes that little nugget of information and tucks it away.

They've been fucking for almost seven months now. So she's not… a rebound?

"And I've been happier without him than with him." Kihyun drops his phone to the side and wraps his arms around her. Dior's head buzzes, like buzzes a lot. It's buzzing so bad she's dizzy. She holds him close. She holds Kihyun really fucking close.

"You're not bothered?"

Dior snuggles into his chest. "Bothered by what?"

"I'm bi."

Hearing it is like hearing song birds on a sunny day. No, she's not bothered. She's pan. And she's trying to figure out when to tell him.

"No." Dior kisses his chest. "I knew you were too good to be straight."

Kihyun laughs. "My worst nightmare; being confused for a het."

Dior tips her head back to give him a little smooch. "You know, I'm happy that you're happier. And I’m happy that I get to see you be happier."

She hadn't meant to make the moment so soft, but there it goes, all mushy and marshmallow-y. It's in Kihyun’s gaze, on his lips as they kiss. Dior runs a hand through his hair, and they both decide to sleep. They don't have plans for their last day in Philly besides explore the shops and eat really good food. Dior feels so at ease.

* * *

She goes on a really shitty date the very first Friday off from the semester and this is honestly probably one of the worst things her parents have ever expected from her. Which, in hindsight, is a privilege. But she'd rather be at the bar with Wonhee, trying to figure out how to get her best friend to meet her dick appointment. She wants to formally introduce them. Though she doesn't know what the fuck to introduce Kihyun as. Friend with benefits? Just friend? It's not like Wonhee doesn't know they're fucking. Dior makes it known she's getting the dick of a lifetime. And she's on a mission to get Wonhee to dump this lame ass boyfriend of hers that thinks he's hot shit for going down on her at all.

So the date sucks. Really sucks. The dude — Charlie? Charles? Chuck? Like the shoes, Chucks? — drops her off at her house and she giggles and has one foot out the door before he can even say he had a good time. Dior honestly zoned out most the night. Now she's thinking about Chucks, and how she wanted to get Kihyun a pair. He has a pair of high tops, so worn in and so old and he's due for an upgrade, and Dior wants to get him a little gift for being so supportive of her over the semester.

Blind date seems bummed, but Dior is sure she'll never see him again. She fluffs it up a little to her parents, says he was nice, totally gets his name wrong and her dad corrects her — Chuckie, like the fucking doll, who _does_ that to their kid — and she goes up her room, leaving her parents with smiles on their faces.

Kihyun calls her.

"Hello~"

The line gets so quiet she thinks it’s dead.

Dior checks her phone. It's still connected. "Hello?"

"Hey." Kihyun pauses, tentative. "You seem to be in a good mood."

"Looking at shoes." Dior says, scrolling through the Converse website. There's a really cute rose pink one. Would Kihyun wear them…? Would Biker Gang member Kihyun Yoo wear a blush-pink shoe if Dior got them for him? It'd look cute with most his outfits, he sticks to blacks, greys, sometimes a white shirt. It'd be a really cute soft touch to his clothes.

"Oh, you're home from the date?"

"Mhm, it sucked. He's not calling me." She sucks on her lip, stares at the shoes. Adds them to cart.

"Oh, you sounded happy, I thought —" Kihyun’s voice wavers. “What are you doing this weekend?"

Dior pops her lips. "Uh. Was gonna see Wonhee tomorrow. And that's it. Maybe I was gonna go shopping."

"Can you reschedule with Wonhee? I know it's last minute, I promise I'll make it up to her."

"You will?" Dior clicks on a navy pair of shoes. These are cute. More 'masculine.' "Wait, you want me for the whole weekend?" _Again?_

"Yeah. I'll pick you up tonight, bring you home Monday morning."

Dior’s heart is usually pretty dead in her chest. Right now it's alive and having a minor meltdown. "What are… what are we doing?" She'll _beg_ Wonhee to cover for her, she'll pack whatever the fuck she needs to pack right now. She spent last weekend with Kihyun in Philly, told her parents it was just a mini getaway for herself, sightseeing; “History seeing” she said to her dad and he smiled, truly fooled. She hasn’t shown them the tattoo yet. She's having a hard time with that though because it's itchy as _fuck_.

"A weekend ride, me and the guys. We're going up 95, stop at the beaches, and if there's any place you want to go along the way, they'll be cool with it."

Dior — he wants her to meet his _friends_. He wants to bring her along for a ride. This is official, this feels so fucking official. She'll buy Wonhee a Louis Vuitton purse if she helps her lie to her parents about it.

Dior is already up and across the room, but then has a thought, her heart sinking back into its bed.

"I'm… on my period. It's supposed to be ending, soon. Like today or tomorrow, but, uh, you probably don't want anything to do — "

"That's… that's not why I'm asking you to come along, baby."

Dior stares at the floor and chews her lip. "Oh," It comes out breathy, surprised, and Kihyun picks up on it. He always picks up on these things.

"You know I care a lot about you, Dior."

Dior takes a deep breath, trying to breathe around the way her heart melts and drips inside her chest. It's making a puddle in her stomach, all weird and kinda warm and slushy. They didn't fuck when they went away to Philly. Weird, right? They kissed a lot though. And this week was busy, they texted, mostly chatted, Kihyun sent her another latte and they talked on the phone but they haven’t fucked in over a week but they’re melding into each other’s days, anyways.

"Uh,"

"Do you wanna come for a ride with me this weekend?"

Dior nods, laughs at herself for being so dumb because he can't see her. "Yeah, I do."

"I can pick you up."

"Give me, uh," _months_ worth of feelings come back up like the dead, angry and seeking immediate attention. Dior blinks backs tears. She needs a cry, then a shower. "Two hours." That should be enough. She has to unearth these feelings and sort them out, replant and arrange them like a garden.

Because she really fucking likes Kihyun and she thinks he really likes her, too.

When Kihyun comes to pick her up, waiting around the corner, he kisses her, holds her, asks her to be his girlfriend, that garden blooms.

* * *

Dior packed a leather jacket because it seemed the most appropriate, grey jeans, and booties. She's usually more colorful than this, but if she's going to be on the back of her _boyfriend's_ bike all weekend, why not match her _boyfriend_ and the vibes of her _boyfriend's_ friends — she can't stop saying boyfriend. She knows that she has to somehow get her parents to lay off on all these blind dates without telling them she's seeing someone. Her congressman father would be livid if she were dating a biker with a Class B misdemeanor. How does she tell congressman daddy that her boyfriend was in jail for almost six months when he was twenty-two?

How does she hide this motorcycle helmet from her parents?

Kihyun gifts her one of those cat helmets, all sleek and matte with a vinyl detail. It's gorgeous. It's so fucking beautiful. He calls her 'kitten' as he hands it to her, kissing her forehead. It matches perfectly with her outfit. She was so right to go for the grungy look. She can't wait to wear it, push the iridescent visor up to look at the hills, at the open road. She owes Wonhee not one but _two_ designer bags for covering her ass for this trip.

They pack for the trip, go to the local drugstore to buy a couple things to put in their backpack — Kihyun slips them down the feminine care aisle, Dior says she's fine, her period is ending. But Kihyun grabs one of the boxes, the totally wrong box, it's not the right size and it has wings, Dior hates pads with wings.

"You can leave them at my apartment."

Dior slips her hand into his and smiles. But plucks the box of pads out of his hand.

"Not that one, I don't bleed that heavily."

Kihyun stares at the box. "Uh, which one?"

"Tampons." She points at the brand she uses, and Kihyun reaches for her. "No that — yeah, that one."

"You just stick it up there and leave it up there?" Kihyun looks slightly mortified and Dior can't stop laughing at his expression.

They snag a pack of condoms on the way out of the drugstore, too.

Saturday morning he gets her up at six, which is awful. It's summer vacation, it's illegal to be awake before nine, she says so, but Kihyun kisses all over her face and says in a sleepy murmur that they should get going. She curls her arms around him and he kisses down her neck, slow, and just as she's giving in, as his hand slips between her thighs, as she relaxes into the sheets, Kihyun takes that as an opportunity to lift her right out of bed and towards the bathroom.

Dior groans at him, what a cheat. She thought they were gonna fuck.

They don't, because Kihyun knows how long she needs to get ready, and she pouts at him all morning.

Kihyun's gang is smaller than what Dior imagined. There's less than a dozen of them; a tall and sturdy Hyunwoo, a mean looking Jooheon (until he grins and showcases his crater dimples and Dior wants to be his best fucking friend,) mullet man JB, Sassy Mark, Resting Bitch Face Jennie, and a super classy looking Lisa. She's so pretty. She's so fucking pretty. She's the only one that could pull off that Edna Mode haircut without actually looking like Edna Mode. Dior’s knees go a little weak in her presence. She has a girlfriend, a super thin and sexy girl with an Australian accent, who introduces herself as Rosé, and Dior just sorta gapes stupidly at her.

And then Hyungwon shows up. He's tall, serving slenderman vibes in all black, and there's a guy on his bike.

"This is my boyfriend, Changkyun."

Changkyun’s still in an emo phase, apparently, oversized shirt tucked into skinny jeans, a hanging belt, black painted nails. But Dior gets stuck on: _boyfriend_. Hyungwon, from a biker gang has pride pins in his lapel, painted nails, every other, opposite his boyfriend, how fucking cute, Docs with rainbow laces. Lisa, a cute and fashionable girl from a biker gang, has a _girlfriend_. Kihyun is _bi_. Dior wonders if the rest of the group is queer. A fucking queer biker gang, how badass is that?

Kihyun grins at Changkyun, greets him with a really big hug.

"It's nice to meet you! Hyungwon doesn't shut the fuck about you!"

Hyungwon shoves Kihyun for his comment, Kihyun shoves back with a laugh, and Changkyun’s eyes go a little sparkly in Hyungwon’s direction.

But Kihyun drapes an arm around Dior’s waist and pulls her in. In these shoes, she’s noticeably taller than him. Just before they headed out, he said she looked gorgeous. He’s not intimidated by the heels.

"This is my girlfriend, Dior."

It’s all hugs and super excited _nice to meet you_ ’s! And Dior’s never felt so accepted so fast in her life.

When they ride off, Dior sneaks a look at Hyungwon and Changkyun, how Changkyun slips his arms around Hyungwon’s small waist. She sees Rosé with one arm around Lisa's waist, one in the air, and Dior mimicks the action. Kihyun and Lisa bring their bikes closer, matching speeds down the highway, and Rosé and Dior's hands meet in the air, Rosé's much smaller fingers slipping between Dior's longer ones. She lets go, and Kihyun speeds up, closer to Hyungwon’s bike, and Changkyun wants to do the hand hold, too. Dior has said maybe all of three words to him, but she reaches out and slips her fingers between his, too. He gives their hands an excited little shake and lets go. Dior is grinning ear to ear.

The wind whips between them, she has her hands tight on Kihyun's waist, the lithe Kawasaki humming underneath her and Kihyun, and Dior feels like she belongs.

* * *

They didn’t bother packing pajama’s because everyone will be separated by couples, and it saves space in their backpacks. Dior has spent enough time walking around naked at Kihyun’s place, she’s good with the idea. After they’ve showered and gotten comfortable in a hotel room, thank god they don’t stay in motels, she would’ve put her foot down if that were the case, she sits between Kihyun’s legs on the bed, back up against his chest. She twists so she’s laying sideways, his elbow hooked behind her head, so she can look up at him. She’s excited about the ride, the stops, she’s never felt so fucking free, and Kihyun looks down at her the way he’d looked at the sunset. Dior feels like the sun is in her chest.

“I’m so happy you had fun.”

“We’re really heading back tomorrow?” Dior smiles as he dips down to kiss her. They have only the lamp on, all the other lights are off, and Kihyun smells clean and fresh. She sighs into the kiss, smiles a little as his hand slips down her stomach.

“I was wondering…” She moans as Kihyun’s hand slips between her legs. “When you were…” His fingers are soft, slipping between her folds. She moans again, spreads her legs a little more, but Kihyun pulls away, pulls his face away from hers, too. She blinks at him, and he licks his fingers, and slips them down between her legs. He teases her, slow, then fast. Dior whines and hooks a hand around his neck, the other moving to wrap around his forearm. Kihyun slows again, kisses along the side of her head, his other hand coming to cup her breast, twist her nipple, and Dior shivers in his arms, parts her lips with a moan, inhales shakily when Kihyun starts slow, small circles with his fingers.

Dior closes her eyes and feels arousal tickle up her stomach, tingle down her thighs. Kihyun stops rubbing her to kiss her cheek, rub his wet hand along her thigh, then back up, and she ruts against his hand, gasping a little.

“I love that little noise you make.” Kihyun whispers, slipping a finger inside her. She makes the noise again — involuntarily, very genuine — and he slips his thumb against her clit. Dior spreads her legs wider, feet slipping against the mattress, and Kihyun licks at the shell of her ear, and she squirms, gasps as he picks up the pace.

Kihyun fingers her, the room filled with her gasps, the sounds of his lips on her neck, her body against the sheets as she squirms. She’s close, she’s getting closer, legs spread wide and she can feel she’s dripping all over the bed, all over Kihyun’s hand, and she gasps, broken, as he slips in another finger and pumps her, rubs up her stomach. Dior arches, desperate to finish, and she recoils, Kihyun’s fingers slipping out of her to messily play with her, slide his fingers against her, back into her, and she comes.

It shudders through her whole body, she clenches around his fingers, and falls limp against Kihyun.

He tucks her hair behind her ear, kisses along her hairline.

Kihyun waits until Dior is ready, once she’s caught her breath, and she turns around to kneel between his legs, wrap her arm around his waist. She rolls her eyes at his smug expression.

“Don’t be so fucking full of yourself.” She tugs on Kihyun’s shoulders, pouting cutely. “Come here,”

They move to the center of the bed, and she faces him, hooks her legs around his waist. She jerks him off, plays with his tip, until he’s hard enough, curses impatiently as he slips on a condom, and she leans back, one hand poised to hold her up on the bed, the other on Kihyun’s shoulder, and she sinks down on him.

Kihyun groans, gaze unfocusing, his hands gliding down to her waist.

Dior fucks herself on him, head thrown back, Kihyun rocking up against her, holding her, gripping her ass and boobs. She grinds against him, dips forward so they’re chest to chest and she’s clinging to him, scraping her nails down his back until he’s whimpering. She loves it when Kihyun makes noise. She loves it when he moans, she loves being able to wreck him, too. And she loves how it feels when she’s coming, tightening around him, and she can feel him pulsing deep inside her, his hands slipping down her back, his head thrown back, noises unfiltered, her name like a prayer off his lips.

Oh, and he wakes her up with some _really_ good head. Kihyun looks gorgeous between her legs, her thighs over his shoulders, her hands pushing his hair back, his eyes closed, mouth wet and loud. She arches and moans, basking in it, unashamed and not guilty because Kihyun slips his hands around her thighs and moans against her folds.

* * *

Dior isn’t going to lie; being on the back of Kihyun’s bike, nearly a hundred miles away from home, makes her soft, makes her want to hold Kihyun’s hand and kiss him under the moonlight, kiss him in the rain like a cheesy romance film. Sappy shit. It makes her want to tell her parents about him, it makes her feel like she can go back to the real world on Monday morning and face the new day with a new attitude. Being on the back of Kihyun’s bike, his friends hovering around them, seeing the mountains, stopping to look at cows out on a field because Dior got way too excited by them, makes her feel so fucking happy. She, Changkyun and Jooheon stand to the side and try to coax a cow over with some grass. It eats out of Changkyun’s hand, and they’re all super excited for him. Hyungwon laughs and gives him an affectionate kiss, and Dior thinks they’re adorable. She loves that she just met these people but they’ll stand at the side of the road with her and pull grass out of the ground in an attempt to pet a cow.

They all stop at an overlook to watch the sunset. Dior willingly sits on the grass, tucks herself into Kihyun’s side, and he runs a finger through her hair. He kisses the side of her head and Dior smiles, draping an arm over his waist. She doesn’t think she’s ever watched the sun go down. She doesn’t think a photo, or even a painting, could capture the way it looks, the way the sun dips into the horizon like watercolors.

Dior kisses him under the bright oranges, the shy purples, and it’s sweet. And she feels so open and bare, so loved, adored; feelings she didn’t know she was ever going to find.

“I have to tell you something.”

Kihyun nods slowly, tucks her hair behind her ear. “Anything, beautiful.”

Men have called her beautiful before, they say it so greasily, in a way that makes her feel dirty, but Kihyun says it like it was her name. She takes a deep breath, feels her chest pull, and watches the way Kihyun’s expression dips into tenderness. He can tell she’s preparing herself, and she knows she can take her time, that Kihyun will lie on the grass with her until the stars are all in the sky, whispering at them.

“I used to, um.” Dior poises herself up on one arm, her hair falling over her shoulder. Kihyun reaches up to push it back. She almost gets angry at how tender he is. He was supposed to be just a booty call. Now here they are lying under the stars on the grass, in another state, just _being._

“I’m not straight.”

Kihyun just looks at her, the back of his fingers grazing her jawline. Dior breathes out. Wow. What a weight off her chest.

“And this is such a big deal to me because I gotta be so quiet about it, y’know? God, imagine if Congressman David’s daughter turns out to be a fucking _queer_. He lobbied _against_ gay rights. How am I supposed to tell him?” Dior looks off at the shadows of the mountains. She knows that the rest of the gang is hanging around on the look-out, she can see the wrapped up silhouette of Hyungwon and Changkyun, kissing softly, not quite making out, but in a world just theirs. Lisa and Rosé are napping a few feet over, cuddled up. Hyunwoo is fidgeting with his bike, JB and Mark look awfully couple-y off to the side, but Jennie had told her whatever's going on between them is complicated. Dior figures if anyone overhears, she’s with the most accepting group of people.

Kihyun just hums, and she turns back to him, smiling as he gently pulls her down to lie against him. She settles against his chest. She knew this would be easy with him.

“You’re…? Bi?” He asks, shifting onto his side. "I could tell by the way you talked about Wonhee…"

“Bi? Pan?” Dior looks up at the stars. She’s never seen so many. “I like how pansexual feels.”

“Hmmm,” Kihyun brings his other arm back behind his head. “This whole group is queer.” Kihyun loops an arm around her waist and pulls her close. “You fit right in.”

Dior feels weightless, damn, and if she didn’t think she and Kihyun could connect any deeper, they just made another bond. And Kihyun laughs, eyes glittering against the stars in the universe.

* * *

They’re back at Kihyun’s

She rides him on the couch, flips her hair over her shoulder, digs her fingers into his shoulders and gets almost obnoxiously loud, and then he grabs her and flips her onto her back and gets between her legs and drills her into the couch. He’s thrusting between her legs and they’re moaning into each other’s mouths and Dior’s just, really horny, and a tendril of a thought slips into her mind,

“I wanna fuck you.” She whispers, grips Kihyun’s hair, and smirks as he gasps, coming seconds later.

* * *

Kihyun and Wonhee _finally_ meet one night when the group is all out bowling. Wonhee mean mugs Kihyun, but she’s too cute to be intimidating. Kihyun is super cute, anyway, he has half his gang out so they can split into two even groups for bowling, and when Hyunwoo gives Wonhee an up and down, and little light bulb goes off in Dior’s head. Wonhee should totally dump her dumb boyfriend for Hyunwoo. After a weekend of bonding and hearing Hyunwoo talk, and valuing Kihyun’s opinion of him, Dior thinks Wonhee should give Hyunwoo a try. Dump her useless boyfriend. So Dior puts Wonhee on Hyunwoo’s team.

Wonhee acts like she’s too busy scrutinizing Kihyun to be interested in Hyunwoo, but she does do a double take at him. Besides, Kihyun’s super cute, and he hops every time he gets a strike. Whenever Dior gets a strike, he smushes her cheeks and kisses her. He gets loud and exaggerated with it, too. They’re so cheesy and cute. She’s so happy.

But she can’t stop thinking about what happened a few days ago, that Kihyun is very eager to let her fuck him.

* * *

They go online shopping for the Perfect Strap. Kihyun is cooking for her, and she’s in the kitchen in just a silky slip, long legs crossed under the table.

“We’re not getting one of… these.” She curls her lip in disgust to show him this long and thin and hyper-realistic looking one. No one’s dick has that many veins. “This looks like an alien worm. I’m so glad your dick doesn’t look like this, honey.”

Kihyun glances over his shoulder at her, mixing the bamboo spoon in the pot.

“What?” Dior pats her bun to make sure all her hair’s still in place. She taps her fresh manicure on the table. “You have a pretty dick.”

“I like that you called me honey.” Kihyun turns back to the stove, and Dior locks her phone and gets up, wraps her arms around his waist and drops kisses on the back of his neck.

“Honey, honey.” The nickname slipped. She likes it, too. Feels stupidly domestic. Now that they’re boyfriend and girlfriend they do a lot of this cute shit. They go on real dates, Kihyun cooks her dinner and there’s no weird _you’re here to fuck_ eyes cast over dinner. Dior can come over between classes, if she wants. She can show up at the shop to drop off lunch. She loves being his girlfriend. She loves that he’s her boyfriend.

“I want your opinion.” She opens the cart on the lingerie website, she’s narrowed it down to two options. One is a soft beige, not far off from her own skin tone, the other is pink. It reminds her of the pink on the head of Kihyun’s dick. That’s why she likes it. It’s blunt, too, not too thick. It looks easy to slip on. She thinks it’s cute. Kihyun reads the item description and Dior takes over stirring the noodles.

Kihyun decides he likes it. Dior pays for expedited shipping, let some random person she’ll never meet judge her horniness.

* * *

It goes to Kihyun’s apartment, of course. He takes a picture of the box when it arrives and it’s only Thursday but Dior tells her parents she’s going out, she’ll be gone through the weekend. They corner her, asking her if she’s seeing someone, and she says _no!! Of course not!!_ But her boyfriend is waiting for her. This is probably the first time since they’ve met that she’s not getting picked up. Dior drives to his apartment.

The front door is unlocked when she gets there and she’s going to berate him for how dangerous that is, and locks and deadbolts the door behind her as if it’d make up for it. The apartment is dark, she can smell that the candles are lit in Kihyun’s room, the scent carrying through the apartment. She kicks her shoes off, drops her purse and keys on the coffee table, and freezes when she hears Kihyun moan from the other half of his studio apartment.

Oh.

She peers around the divider; the lights are off, just the string light hung around his headboard is on, bright enough to give enough light for Dior to see the strain in Kihyun’s neck, the long shadows of his spread legs on the bed, and a good enough view of his fingers up his ass, prepping himself. Dior’s jaw drops.

Oh. That’s hot.

Kihyun moans, dips his head to the side and bucks his hips. She can see he’s a little sweaty, see his hand glide over the covers, palm up, for her. His eyes flutter and he moans her name and her knees go weak. She stumbles out of her skirt, pulls off her socks, leaves on her shirt; it’s a crop top. She’s too flustered to care to take it off. Her hands reach for the strap, she wishes she could take it in more, but she doesn’t really have the time. Besides, it’s similar to the one she used to have, when she had a girlfriend sophomore year of university. She’s already told Kihyun about that. Maybe that’s why he gave himself the green light to start without her. Dior’s so fixated on Kihyun fingering himself she can barely pull her eyes away long enough to figure out where her legs go. It’s pretty simple, she just needs to focus for, like, a damn second.

The straps tighten between her legs and she gasps at the sensation of it paired with the visual of her boyfriend fingering himself. Dior looks down at herself, how the straps tighten around her waist, makes her look thinner, how the vaguely-dick shaped dildo looks so pretty in her hands. It matches her manicure. She kneels on the edge of the bed, holding the dildo in her hands.

“Please, come fuck me, kitten.” Kihyun has three fingers splitting himself open, and there’s lube running down his wrist, shining off his hand in the lights. He’s so wet. Dior breathes to steady herself, leans over to reach for the lube on the bed, by Kihyun’s hip.

“How you want me to fuck you?” She can’t keep her eyes in one place; on Kihyun’s half-lidded gaze, his spread legs, his sweaty chest. He looks so good.

Kihyun’s fingers slip out, and he rolls his wrist as he rolls over, gets on all fours. Dior coats the dildo in lube, awed by the sight of Kihyun getting on his hands and knees, chest to the mattress, arms out over his head, presenting himself. He’s done this before — _with a guy,_ her brain supplies, so he already knows what to do, what to expect. Dior positions herself up behind Kihyun. She grips the base of the dildo, presses it up against him, and watches how he shivers. He wants this so bad. She’ll give it to him.

Dior starts off slow, resisting her own urge to just push in, _take_ , she wants this to be as good as possible. She honestly wants to wreck Kihyun. But she cares for him too much to use him. She wants to see his face, too, see what he looks like as she presses into him. For now, she watches how his shoulders tense, and pull, the way he arches as she pushes in. Once it’s in all the way, Dior pauses, runs her hands over his skin. The motion is familiar. Dior pulls back, pushes forward, heartbeat running a marathon out of her chest. He’s so beautiful. He’s so fucking beautiful.

For now she lets him control the pace. She starts off slow, getting used to the pull of the harness, running her hands over his back, his sweet back dimples, the muscles of his shoulders. She’s never seen Kihyun from this angle and she takes it in little by little; marvels at the shape of his waist, how broad he looks from behind, how slim his waist is. Dior watches as he circles his hips as she thrusts, he’s trying to find more friction, and the straps are pulling at her folds, rubbing her, and she’s getting all wet over them.

Kihyun thrusts back, groaning, aborted. Then he moves faster, harder, hands fisting the sheets, voice getting high. Dior sits her hands on his lower back and lets him control his own pace, lets him fuck himself back on her, hands digging into the mattress for leverage. Look at this needy little thing fuck himself on her. Listen to the little noises he makes, how his hips twist. He’s so gone.

Dior wants to see his face, though. She pushes her hips against his, and Kihyun groans, grinds against her. She slips out without warning, says,

“On your back, honey.”

Kihyun rolls over, he’s panting, sweaty, face flushed and so pretty. Without prompting he spreads his legs and Dior swears she feels a piece of her sanity slip away. This is so fucking hot how bad he wants her, how much he likes this. Dior pushes the blunt end back against his hole, and slips back inside. Kihyun sounds so fucking satisfied.

Dior brings his legs over her shoulders, tests his flexibility by leaning forward, and Kihyun’s hands scramble down her front, cupping her breasts, struggling to pull her shirt off. He leans his head back, neck straining, but his eyes are unfocused, all over her.

Dior fucks him until even she’s lost in it, the straps rubbing against her, urging her on, and Kihyun’s playing with her tits, his voice high and watery. She burns, her brain buzzes, she pants against Kihyun’s neck, kisses along his jawline. Kihyun clings to her, hands gliding down her waist, over her curves, and back up. His hand falls to her hips and she groans as he squeezes, pulling her, upping the tempo of her thrusts. Dior gasps, obliges, and Kihyun whines, whines so fucking pretty, so high. Dior bites on her lower lip and leans back, sucks in a whole lot of air, and slows the pace. She arches her hips, rolls into it, Kihyun spreads his legs even wider and she wonders how far she can get them to spread. She doesn’t have to hope Kihyun’s enjoying it, his eyes are shiny with tears, blinking them back, planting both feet on the mattress to roll his hips into Dior’s. Dior's hair keeps getting in the way, falling off her shoulders and tickling Kihyun’s chest. She should've tied it back.

It’s so beautiful the way he rolls his hips against hers; mesmerizing, his ribcage expanding harshly with each breath, his lips chewed and so goddamn kissable. The muscles in his thighs strain, his dick is hard, leaking heavily. Dior watches how he twists his head back as she slips out, pulls on his rim, and Kihyun parts his lips, lips all slick.

“You look so fucking good.” Dior slips back in. Kihyun’s thighs shake. “I can’t believe you love this so much.”

They can get chatty during sex. Depends what mood they’re in, what type of fuck they’re having. Kihyun, apparently, is not in the chatty mood. But he licks his lips as Dior praises him, writhing against the sheets, grinding his hips against hers.

“Baby,” Kihyun whines, just to whine.

“Yes?” Dior huffs, grinding her hips against him and Kihyun shivers underneath her, a hand slipping down her arm.

“Baby, fuck me harder,” Kihyun’s eyes flutter. He doesn’t need to ask twice, Dior leans over, hands on either side of his head, takes in the visual of him underneath her until her hair all falls forward again, and fucks him.

Kihyun’s almost there, but he can’t get anything else out, hes so fucking incoherent and blabbering, and his fingers are slipping underneath hers, prying her hand away from his hip, and she realises he wants to hold hands.

She can’t believe, that when she’s this fucking horny, spearing him open with a strap, he can make her feel so fucking soft. Like mush. She combats the feeling by fucking harder, faster, holding his hand and gasping against his neck. Dior wants to make him feel good, she thinks it’s fucking hot that he gets off on her fucking him, and she keeps up with long strokes until Kihyun’s legs are shaking against her, and his voice gets high, and he grips her hand, and she feels his come all over her stomach. He comes so fucking much.

She comes to a full stop. Dior breathes heavy, listens to the sound of Kihyun breathing heavy, small groans of content slipping out every few breaths. Kihyun runs a hand through his hair and brings their intertwined hands to his lips, kisses the back of her hand.

“You look so sexy. What the fuck, you're so hot." He says, bringing his other hand behind her head, pulling her in for a slow, breathy kiss.

Dior wants to tell him he is, too, but she settles on kissing him, instead, kissing him through his high and bringing him back down. Once he’s relaxed she pulls back, takes a second to look at where it’s all messy, and unhooks the harness. She drops the soaked dildo to the floor, she doesn’t even care about clean up. That was too good.

Kihyun slides a little down the bed, pulling Dior to crawl up.

“What are you —?”

“C’mere, kitten.” Kihyun aligns her hips over his face, her thighs caging his head in and leans up to lick her. She’s wet. She’s really wet. She’s almost embarrassed by how bad it is, but Kihyun doesn’t care. He eats her out and she grinds against his face, pulls at his hair, stares down at him, at that coy look he sends up at her. He knows how to get her off. And he’ll do it again, and again. She comes twice on his mouth, pushing his head into the bed with her hips.

Dior curls up next to him, buries her face into his neck and kisses him softly. Kihyun closes his eyes and hums, uses his feet to kick the blankets up. It’s, like, six in the evening. They take a nap, order some food, shower together, and then lie naked in clean sheets and share fries, and watch the next episode of Jumong. They don't have the energy for anything else. 

* * *

Dior stopped by Target on the way here, bought Kihyun a new Keurig. He dropped the other one. Literally. Was holding it, Dior turned around for a second, and heard it shatter against the tiles. At least it didn't fall on Kihyun’s toes. But while Dior was at Target, she saw a stuffed animal that just reminded her of Kihyun. He dyed his hair a light brown, golden weaved in, and even though he's a super cool biker in a super cool biker gang, he's a huge ass dork. And the round gerbil toy thing — Dior is going with calling it a hamster — just reminded her of Kihyun.

She presents him with the Converse, the stuffed animal, and the Keurig.

"You didn't…" Kihyun tried to take the gifts from her hands. "Baby you didn't have to."

Dior fights him for the Keurig. He's not dropping a second one. She will place it on the counter and unpack it and set it up herself. Kihyun sits at the small kitchen table and unwraps the gifts she oh so precariously wrapped by grabbing the corner and tearing it open. Like a child on Christmas. Dior holds back a smile. She likes to do the same thing. She loves gifts.

The first ones Kihyun opens are the pink ones. She bites her lip and stares at his expression. Thankfully, his eyes go wide and he looks stoked. The color doesn't bother him. What a man.

"Oh, baby, this color is so pretty." He tries them on. They fit. They don't really match his day off attire; ugly plaid boxers and a tee shirt. The next thing on Dior's to do list: Calvin Klein underwear. Armani Exchange, Adidas. Some really fucking sexy designer underwear in colors that match her manicures. And matching sets with her own — _ooh_ , wait that's a really nice thought. She's buying them matching underwear. They're going to take so many fucking mirror and bed selfies. She’s going to be that annoying friend that posts a mirror selfie of her and her man in matching underwear, his hand on her ass and his face in her neck, on Instagram. She doesn’t even care who sees it or who her father is. She and Kihyun are both hot. The world needs to see them.

Kihyun loves the navy pair of shoes, too, and he's sitting there with them untied and on his feet and the little round hamster plush in his lap. He stares at it like it's going to say something to him.

"What are you telling me with this?" Kihyun turns the hamster towards her, and puffs out his cheeks and pouts, tries to mimic the toy's adorable expression. Dior could coo, he absolutely nails it.

While she's pulling the brand new Keurig from the box, Kihyun comes over to try and help but all Dior hears in the back of her head is the sound of a Keurig smashing to bits, so she swats him away.

"No! No. Get out of here."

Kihyun goes to sulk while she sets up the Keurig, and when Dior's done she turns to the living room space, greeted with the sight of Kihyun napping on the couch. He's holding the hamster toy. Big bad biker gang member spent-time-in-jail Yoo Kihyun, is curled up on the couch cuddling a hamster plushie, all sulky, because his girlfriend banned him and his butter fingers from the kitchen for dropping a Keurig.

Dior feels… like a whoosh of air through her. Like the first drop on a roller-coaster, like her hearts in her throat, like that first night Kihyun took her out on the bike, and they flew down the highway. She feels like that night they were somewhere up in the woods, they could've been lost she wouldn't of fucking cared, and they were looking up at the stars and she realized that even though she's really fucking insignificant in the grand scheme of the universe, she has Kihyun. And he makes her feel important in the grand scheme of the fucking universe.

All he's doing is holding a stupid hamster plushie (while wearing those ugly ass plaid boxers that she's throwing out the _second_ she gets her hands on them,) napping, probably drooling a little, and Dior realizes she really fucking loves him.

Kihyun opens one eye, groans and stretches, holds out his hand and does a toddler like wave, and Dior has to shove her tears down.

"Come nap with me."

She curls up against him, smiles as he throws a leg over her, laughs as he gets the plushie in-between them. He kisses her forehead. Those are her favorite kisses; because his lips linger against her skin, and she likes the little noise he makes as his lips pull away.

"Hey bitch." Dior says because she's not really sure how else to express her feelings.

"I'm bitch?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Kihyun just accepts it. "What is it?"

What's scarier; _I love you_? Or _I wanna introduce you to my parents_?

"I wanna introduce to you my parents."

Now that she thinks about it, probably _I wanna introduce you to my parents._ Because the _I love you_ and maybe a little _I want us to be long-term_ and maybe some of _I'm really fucking serious about us_ , is implied.

"Oh." Kihyun shifts a little. But his hand comes up to twirl her hair in his fingers. "I thought that was a bad idea."

"It's a very bad idea."

"But you wanna do it anyway." Kihyun sighs, real deep, and it makes Dior panic. Does he not want to? Is he only fine with dating her as long as they're a secret? Did she realize she loves him at the wrong time? Is he just like _every other fucking man_ out there—

"I want you to meet my parents, too."

Oh. She overreacted.

"If…" Kihyun bites his lip, and Dior leans her head back to look up at him. "You think they'll accept me?"

"The last time they didn't like a boyfriend they gave me bodyguards." Dior rolls her eyes, feels Kihyun stiffen apprehensively against her. "But it's fine, I know how to sneak out my window."

"...Very Romeo and Juliette of us. You could call me Rom—"

"— I'm not calling you Romeo."

Kihyun pouts. "Call me Romeo."

Dior rolls her eyes. "Okay, Romeo." It's kind of stupid. Maybe she'll call him that when he's being all romantic and sweet. She can give him that much. "Anyway. My parents are probably gonna be pissed. Can we show up together? On your bike? That way I have an escape route, too."

Kihyun's hand brushes the back of her head. "If... if you need... you know..." His hand cards through her hair. "You can stay here."

Dior doesn't think she understands what he's saying. She just blinks at him.

"Your dad wouldn't disown you, that would ruin his perfect public image. But if you had to move out…"

Dior swears she flatlines. Moves in? They're that serious? He's that serious?? Because she's that serious.

"I know my whole apartment is the size of your bedroom. Alone. Not counting the bathroom and walk-in closet."

Dior glances around the living room. Yeah. That's true.

"It's not much —"

"It's plenty." Dior looks up at him. She catches a fondness escaping Kihyun’s gaze. Is he really looking at her like that when she’s not looking? Fuck, they’re a cliché. Dior deserves this. Dior deserves to be loved.

Kihyun bites down on his lip, runs a hand through her hair.

“Can I tell you something?”

Dior nods eagerly. Her heart pounds when he leans forward to kiss her forehead.

“I love you.”

Dior holds down her heart before it flies away. “I know you do.”

Kihyun, thankfully, laughs.

“I love you too, though.” She moves in to kiss him, gross and sweet and everything the kiss needs to be after their first exchange of _I love you_ ’s. “And now that you know that. I need to tell you something else.”

Kihyun hums at her to continue.

“We need a bigger apartment I can’t stay in this. I don’t care if I have to have daddy pay for it,” Kihyun muffles his laugh behind a hand. “I need an updated kitchen, your fridge has wood plating on it. Who the fuck does that? The sixties? And the shower needs better water pressure —"

“We can go apartment shopping.” Kihyun cuts her off. Dior sags into him in relief. “But you’ll need to get some of your dad’s money. My bank account isn’t limitless.”

Dior grins. A man that’s willing to accept her daddy’s money to give himself (well, _themselves_ ) a better lifestyle? Yes. She likes that very much.

“I want a balcony.”

“Wanna fuck you on the balcony.” Kihyun murmurs into her hair.

Dior grins. “I could also fuck you on the balcony.”

Kihyun shivers, mumbles, “I wanna ride you.”

Dior unintelligibly goes, “ _Mhmmmhmmfff_ ,” and that’s how she feels about that.

**Author's Note:**

> me, writing biker gang member lisa: hfedjfsalhfasaaaahhhh
> 
> this was so much fun to write hfisjkfd kihyun rides a kawasaki ninja 250! and i picture dior in like, all pastels and bright colors, mostly in skirts or dresses, only in all black because she's on kihyun's bike. and kihyun's the type of guy that cycles between the same 3 pair of ripped black jeans, sometimes changes his leather jacket out for a denim one and very very soon diors gonna _raid_ his closet.


End file.
